


this ghost town

by ElasticElla



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 00:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21109940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: But there’s no where else to go, this whole damn town is cursed with memories.





	this ghost town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teaotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/gifts).

> other than a few minor details this is a canon compliant summer fic set before s03e01, title from walk the moon's anna sun
> 
> a huge thank you to teaotter for making a donation to Flippable \o/

Alaric tips the nearly empty bottle of Beam over his cup, one last drop catching the rim before plopping into his glass. He tosses it back, fire lighting up his throat- he’s long past the decent stuff. 

Jenna is dead. 

After Isobel, you’d think he would’ve gotten a better handle on the whole- Ric tosses the empty bottle aside. It isn’t right to think them in the same sentence, on either side. It would have been so much easier if she just compelled him to hate her, or to forget about her entirely. The thought alone has his gut twisting, or maybe that’s just the booze on an empty stomach. 

He looks around the irritatingly clean apartment, another sign that he hasn’t been in his own body lately. That Klaus- 

_Fuck._

He can’t be here right now. Every shiny surface feels fake, like his whole apartment is an imposter. But there’s no where else to go, this whole damn town is cursed with memories. He can’t find his keys, probably shouldn’t drive given that- but how nice would it be, to just drive away from it all. To pretend like he never chased down the last lead, like he simply gave up. (Like you were supposed to, her ghost whispers, chills curling around his ear.)

Rather than the keys, he finds the television remote under the couch, flipping it on. He clicks past the cooking channel- Jenna loved watching it even though she couldn’t cook herself, past the history channel- watching with Isobel as they argued with the narrator, past the news- Damon’s stupid somehow still alive girlfriend, past commercials- his thoughts too loud, and finally he lands on an old Star Trek episode. 

It does a shit job at distracting him, but it does grant a merciful sleep. 

.

Alaric wakes up to an infomercial about knives, reaching for his phone to check the time. It’s already two in the afternoon, and he groans. And then again at the gross taste in his mouth, stumbling to the bathroom to clean up. 

There’s two new texts on his phone, but they’ll still be there once he’s feeling more human. (If it was an emergency there would have been phone calls or someone breaking down his door, snapping off the cheap locks, hates that he knows this.) His toothpaste has been replaced with some disgusting peppermint flavor, but at least the bastard that hijacked his body kept it in decent condition. 

Washing his face, he feels slightly less like a leftover convenience store hot dog at four in the morning, checking his phone. There’s two texts, both from Jeremy, and lamenting his sobriety, he opens them up. 

11:46am _pizza lunch u in?_  
1:57pm _elena needs u_

Alaric’s tempted to text back that as her brother, Jeremy can handle it. While he isn’t the worst person in this town to go to, he is top ten, has never been role model material. He got into teaching because he had a history degree and college debt, not to inspire young minds. 

This could be a clean break, Elena’s nearly eighteen and Jeremy- well, Jeremy probably wants him around so Elena doesn’t notice him getting high. It’s the best thing for everyone.

God, he needs to hang out with people his own age. (The thought is near hysterical, and he amends it to people older than thirty.) Damon’s probably busy with action news, and that isn’t a bad thing, the opposite really- he should be cultivating friendships with people that haven’t fucked and murdered his ex-wife. (How the hell do people even make friends anymore without blood on the line? God damn, he’s tragic and old.) His phone vibrates loudly the porcelain sink, and reluctantly he picks it up.

There’s another text from Jeremy, just a simple _please_, and Alaric groans, guilt swirling. He’ll wait until the end of the summer. It’ll give them all some time to move on, and Elena will turn eighteen, and he can go back to his greatest responsibility being his under-watered cactus. 

.

There was a time when he dreamed of having a kid with Isobel. It feels shallow and foolish in retrospect, as if having a child would change who Isobel was or her priorities, as if a happy family would be born with the child. 

But if Isobel had stayed, Elena would have found them. It’s a cruel game of what-ifs to play, all sprouting from the same point- if John hadn’t sent Isobel to Damon how very different things would be. (It’s so much easier to hate John, it always has been.)

.

He moves to the Gilberts’ couch, and Jeremy mentions the two spare bedrooms. It isn’t subtle, but neither is Ric’s aching back in the morning. (And afternoon, and evening, and night, and he’s too old for this shit.)

But he can’t move into his dead ex-girlfriend’s bedroom, and he sure as hell isn’t moving into their parents’ room. All of their parents and guardians have wound up dead, he isn’t about to claim the title. (Maybe if he repeats it enough times, he’ll convince himself it’s only because of survival instincts.)

Living on the couch means he hears Jeremy return late at night, a heavy cloud of weed following him. Living on the couch means he hears Elena try to sneak downstairs quietly, usually an hour or so before the sun rises. She never turns the lights on, sweet kid, slowly navigating through the dark. Early on he finds out that Bonnie and Caroline are spending the summer in NOLA for witch business, and he doesn’t know if he’s more relieved not to be dealing with all three or out of luck that he’s stuck handling the night terrors. 

Elena’s at it again, slowly sneaking down the stairs, avoiding all the creaks. Earlier than usual too, it’s only one in the morning. Alaric turns the lights on, the overhead illuminating a flash of relief and guilt on her face. 

“You too, huh?” 

His jaw cracks through a yawn as he agrees, automatically heading to the kitchen and getting two glasses of water. She finishes half of it in one gulp, grimacing at the counter. 

“You wanna talk about it?” 

“Do you?” she spits back. 

He shrugs, “Klaus stuff. D’you ever feel like your body isn’t your own?” 

Elena raises an incredulous eyebrow, and his cheeks heat. “Right, stupid question… I have these dreams where Klaus is in my body, drinking blood and I can’t get him to stop. I scream and there’s no noise, he has my body and I’m trapped, useless.”

It’s more than he means to say, and he rolls the glass in his palms, condensation sweating down. “Your turn.” 

She glares but doesn’t argue, “Stefan came back and Jeremy died.”

“Ah.” 

“I know it won’t happen,” Elena says quickly, “even like this, he wouldn’t do that.” 

Alaric doesn’t have quite so much faith in the Ripper, but he does have the tact not to ask if that’s where the dream ended. (Judging by the redness in her eyes, he thinks not.)

“When does it get easier?” Elena asks, voice small. 

He sighs, “I dunno kid, but I swear it will. You won’t even notice the change happening, and then one day, it’ll be easier to breathe.” 

Elena nods, placing her glass in the sink. “Thanks Ric, g’night.” 

“Sleep well,” he says, doesn’t follow her out. He stays at the counter, listening to her light footsteps pad up the stairs, across the hall and end on carpet. He pulls out a bottle of cheap bourbon, the stuff that burns like a mother going down. Filling up his glass, he finishes it in a few hurried gulps. (There won’t be any more dreams tonight.)

Teacher- _guardian_\- of the year Ric thinks with a bitter chuckle, crashing on the couch. Tomorrow will be different, he distantly thinks, slipping into a heavy slumber. 

(It isn’t.)

.

Change happens slow, unnoticeable like he told Elena. By the end of the summer, it doesn’t hurt so much. Or maybe he’s just convinced himself of that because he’s gotten better at medicating away the dreams, a glass of bourbon before sleep. It means he doesn’t sleep soundly, tosses and turns and wakes up early. But more importantly, the dreams aren’t remembered, there’s only dry mouth and a light headache- a bargain, truly. 

By the end of the summer he can reminisce without tearing up, can remember dates with Jenna with a smile. The grief was easier this time, but maybe that’s because there’s no mystery- Klaus killed her, end of story. Or maybe because he was waiting for her to break up with him again, to do better than a dead end high school teacher. Or maybe he’s built her up in her death, maybe they weren’t even that close- just the chase and secrecy. 

He doesn’t trust his mind anymore. Doesn’t remember what that felt like, how to go back to it. It sounds more melodramatic than it is, he’s surviving. The kids are doing well, and Elena’s birthday party is tonight. 

Jeremy’s still getting high pretty much every other day, but he’s being safe about it. He isn’t hanging out with vampires or hunters, even finished his summer homework so Elena couldn’t try to argue that angle. He’s drawing again, is probably coping the best. 

Elena… Elena has whittled their early morning chats down to once a week. Alaric is sure she’s awake more often, sometimes hears pacing. She isn’t giving up on Stefan, and doesn’t want to hear any comparisons to Isobel. (It’s a stilted analogy anyways, she knows what Stefan is, knows why he left.)

That being said, she _is_ doing better. She’s been smiling more, leaving the house more- not living in her room. Bonnie and Caroline returned last week, and it’s been a week-long revolving slumber party. 

It’s a good thing. The summer is nearly over, Elena is eighteen, and Alaric can move on. The ‘to what’ is a scary open-ended question, his life has been derailed so many times, he’s lost all direction. Maybe a new start would be best, or maybe staying in Mystic Falls until it feels like he’s living in his own skin again, or maybe he should just flip a coin. 

Whatever happens, he’s moving out of the Gilbert House tonight. He figured they’d kick him out earlier, but they still haven’t and they don’t need him. He isn’t a good role model, isn’t a good person to keep around. 

They’ll be better off without him.


End file.
